Shooting the Breeze
by Petunia846
Summary: Fiona opens up to Sam about her concerns for Michael. Sometime between 310 and 311.


_I just had an itch to write Fiona and Sam together today, but I wasn't sure where it would end up. Turns out it ended up fitting in pretty well with the recent episodes._

Fiona Glenanne lay sprawled on her stomach across Michael's bed, her bare feet making a lazy crisscross pattern through the air while she flipped half-heartedly through a magazine. Michael had been out on a job last night and he wasn't answering his phone today even though it was already early afternoon. Fiona had decided that it would be more tolerable to wait at the loft than at her own condo. She was trying not to be nervous, but with Michael, well…one never knew what might come up.

The metallic screeching noise of the gate opening outside broke the silence and she sat up on the bed. She laid her fingers lightly on the gun sitting next to her, ready for whatever might be coming up the stairs.

Fiona heard a set of keys jingling in the lock. Michael never jingled keys. She grabbed the gun and aimed it squarely at the door.

"Whoa! Hey there, Fi," Sam raised one hand in mock surrender while he juggled the keys and a bag of groceries with his other arm. "Just me. Nothing to get all jumpy about."

"Sam…?" She said coldly. She briefly debated shooting him for scaring her like that, or at least shooting in his general direction, but decided against wasting the bullet and lowered the gun back to the bed. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Mikey's not answering his phone so I thought I'd come see if he was back yet. What about you?"

She sighed heavily. "Same."

"Well, do you mind if I stay?" he asked even though he was already pushing the door closed behind himself. "I brought beer!"

Fiona shifted back and forth slightly in contemplation and narrowed her eyes at him. "What else ya got?"

Sam set the bag down on the counter and started pulling things out of it like he was Mary Poppins. "I've got chips…I've got salsa…I've got a couple yogurts for Mike…and I've got this beer from the best little brewery outside of Berlin." He started folding up the paper bag. "Ran an op there back in '88, right before the wall fell…best job I ever had. They don't make it quite like they used to, but it's still damn good. You want one?"

Fiona rolled her eyes at him. She wondered how many German women Sam had left in his wake back then. Poor things. She sighed again and pushed herself up off the bed, tucking the gun in the waistband of her jeans. "Sure, why not?"

She stepped lightly as she crossed the room and came to stand across the counter from him. He popped the cap off for her and handed it over before opening one for himself. She took a small sip at first, not quite trusting his judgment.

"Not bad," she said with grudging approval.

"Not bad? Do you know how hard it is to get this stuff in Miami? You clearly don't know what you're talking about," he chastised, taking his own turn at an eye roll.

She stalked off towards Michael's favorite chair and arranged herself cross-legged on the seat.

Sam placed the remaining beers and the yogurts in the fridge and settled himself onto one of the stools. "So," he searched for something to continue the conversation and prevent an awkward silence. "What's new with Fiona Glenanne?"

"What's new with Fiona Glenanne?" She repeated his question slowly, trying to think of something to share that wouldn't offend his ex-military, by-the-book sensibilities. "Caught a bail jumper last week," she offered. "He was wanted for check fraud…not that bright. I found him sneaking out of his girlfriend's apartment with a briefcase full of blank checks. Took a little convincing, but he admitted they were working together. Brought him in and then sent the cops a tip about her too. Not bad for a day's work."

Sam raised his beer to toast her from across the room. "Nice work, sister."

She smiled. "And how about you? Still romancing the elderly for pocket change?"

Sam glared at her. "_Ms. Reynolds_ invited me to move in with her."

"Oh," Fiona made a face of mocking surprise. "Is she still speaking to you?"

"Well, no thanks to you, but yes. Although usually we're a bit too busy to talk, but…" his voice trailed off and Fiona shot him a look of disgust.

"More than I needed to know, Sam!" She closed her eyes and took a huge swig of beer as her whole body shuddered at the thought.

"You and Mikey seem…" he wasn't quite sure how to safely finish that sentence. "Happy?"

"I suppose that's one way of putting it, yes." She arched an eyebrow and smiled coyly at him before getting serious again. "I am a bit worried about him though," she stretched her legs out and set her empty bottle on the old piece of construction equipment that Michael generously called a table.

"Why's that?" Sam asked, pulling open the bag of chips.

"He never stops," she began. "It's just one thing after another. Carla, Paxson, Diego, Strickler, now this Gilroy," she rolled the last name off her tongue with particular disdain. "He's going to wear himself out and then he'll start making mistakes, and then…" she trailed off and glanced at the door with a sigh.

Sam sighed along with her and twisted open the salsa. "Mike can take care of himself, Fi." His voice wasn't mean or mocking, just matter of fact. "He did it before either of us ever met him and he'd continue to do it even if neither of us were here. Besides, this Gilroy character is too much trouble to leave to his own devices. If he wants Mike in on this job, he's going to get Mike involved one way or another. Better to get in on our own terms."

"I suppose, but I still think Michael ought to take a break now and then."

"We all know I appreciate some quality time off, Fi, but now just isn't the time. Mike'll relax eventually…"

"When?" she snapped back at him. "Before or after he gets his burn notice revoked and ships off to some godforsaken place like…like…Yemen?"

She stood up and threw her empty bottle violently into the empty trashcan. Sam flinched as he heard it shatter against the bottom.

"We could have recycled that, you know," he quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

"Sam!" She just stood there fuming with her hands on her hips, so he offered her the bag of chips. She wrinkled her nose. "How about another one of those fancy beers?"

"Can do," he said and grabbed it for her.

Fiona took the beer and pulled open the door to the balcony, needing some fresh air. "So what do I do Sam?" she asked, looking out towards the river.

"I dunno Fi, just be there for him. You know Mike. Tell him what's on your mind, but don't expect much to change until Mike wants it to change. He can't help who he is even though sometimes who he is is a major pain in the ass."

Fiona couldn't help but laugh at that. "You can say that again," she smiled.

Their smiles dropped at the sound of footsteps on the metal stairs outside. Fiona and Sam both reached for their guns. A key quietly flipped the lock and Michael pushed the heavy door open slowly. He stopped in the doorway and looked back and forth between Fiona and Sam warily.

"Fi…Sam…hi?" He shut the door behind himself and dropped the keys on the workbench.

Fiona shot Sam a glare that didn't escape Michael's detection.

"What's up?" Michael laughed uncomfortably. "Everything alright?" He continued into the loft, loosening his tie.

"Yeah Mikey, Fi and I were just hanging out, shooting the breeze, you know… You want a beer?"

"They're not half bad," Fiona chimed in.

Michael looked at Sam, then at Fiona, and then back at Sam, trying to decide whether it would be worthwhile to delve any further into whatever conversation had been taking place before his arrival. He tugged off his suit jacket and laid it across the bed. Right now, he was exhausted, and he had a feeling whatever they had been discussing would only wear him out more.

"Yeah, Sam," he said, settling down on the other stool. "Sure."

"Great!" Sam exclaimed.

Fiona came over and leaned on the end of the counter while she tried to covertly check him over for cuts and bruises. Michael tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled at her reassuringly before taking the beer from Sam. "Thanks," he said in a way that told them it was for meant for both of them and it was not just about the beer.

Sam dug a chip into the jar of salsa and crunched loudly. Fiona rolled her eyes at him again. "So," he asked Michael with his mouth full. "How'd it go?"


End file.
